It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
This is the inevitable fate of the sentimentalist. All his opinions change into their opposites at the first brush of reality.
Sometimes you think you want something, when in reality you need to let it go.
Sometimes reality comes crashing down on you. Other times reality simply waits, patiently, for you to run out of the energy it takes to deny it.
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
Meaning and reality were not hidden somewhere behind things, they were in them, in all of them.
I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what’s real.
For, after all, how do we know that two and two make four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is unchangeable? If both the past and the external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable – what then?
You mustn’t believe everything you see. The image of reality we perceive with our eyes is only an illusion, an optical effect. Light is a great liar.
You have to accept this reality as the madhouse walls bulge break and the terrified insane flood our ugly streets. You have to accept terrible reality.
You don’t question Providence. If you can’t have the reality, a dream is just as good.
Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable.
